


Monarch a Trois

by Hezjena2023



Series: Silver!Verse - Royal Prerogative [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: 'Trade Talks', Choking, Crack, F/F, Femslash February, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Silver!Verse, Smut, Threesome - F/F/F, Vaginal Fingering, enemies to still enemies and and they're still banging, prompt:femslash feb, prompt:royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/pseuds/Hezjena2023
Summary: Anora found herself tapping the little gilt-edged card invite against her hand nervously. Waiting for someone to answer after she had knocked on the door to Celene’s guest rooms. She grit her teeth together and flicked her gaze heavenward for a moment. “Is she even in there?” She demanded of the guard by the door, who was all stiff posture and unblinking expression.He wouldn’t meet her gaze and the tips of his ears were red.So Anora knocked again and ignored the man's light protest when she turned the doorknob and invited herself in.“Oh!” The gasp came from the Queen-consort of Antiva, the wife of Fulgeno II, no less. “I did not realise you’d be joining us.” Asha murmured, her eyes glancing to the guard at the door then quickly back to Anora’s face, as though she was annoyed that the Queen of Ferelden had been allowed entrance at all.Which begged the question - where was Celene?***There’s more than one way to get a favourable trade deal.
Relationships: Anora Mac Tir/Celene Valmont, Anora Mac Tir/Celene Valmont/The Queen of Antiva
Series: Silver!Verse - Royal Prerogative [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182290
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9
Collections: Fen'Harem's Femslash February 2021





	Monarch a Trois

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my gorgeous beta readers - [Delurk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk), [PiecesofSolas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofsolas) and [Enby_Hawke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enby_hawke/pseuds/enby_hawke)

‘Trade talks.’ Anora sighed, as she walked along the gilt and silk covered loggia, the talks were bound to be a pointlessly dull affair. It was simply Antiva throwing their weight around on the international stage. Like an angry toddler smashing his fist against his toy, they were temporarily suspending the export of fine Antivan wine until they got what they wanted. 

At least the weather was beautiful. 

Anora had never been to Antiva City before, nor to its palace, with its politically irrelevant monarchy, as she had never had the need before. But she had been quietly excited to see the splendour of the rich turquoise and copper palace, and her new wardrobe commissioned to remind everyone that Ferelden was a big player on the Thedosian stage while also being light and cool enough for the baking Antivan summers. 

Which had been going splendidly until Celene turned up, determined in her own way to throw the Orlesian Empire’s weight around. The Empress had swooped in, just as Anora was sure her diplomats were making real progress, and upended the whole affair scattering the diplomatics like a cat among pigeons.

And then the Empress had the absolute audacity to invite Anora to brunch.

Anora had been determined to snub her Orlesian counterpart, but, after a particularly eloquent speech to the contrary by one of her more skilled diplomats - she had relented. 

Which was how Anora found herself tapping the little gilt-edged card invite against her hand nervously. Waiting for someone to answer after she had knocked on the door to Celene’s guest rooms. She grit her teeth together and flicked her gaze heavenward for a moment. “Is she even in there?” She demanded of the guard by the door, who was all stiff posture and unblinking expression.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze and the tips of his ears were red. 

So Anora knocked again and ignored the man's light protest when she turned the doorknob and invited herself in. 

“Oh!” 

The gasp came from the Queen-consort of Antiva, the wife of Fulgeno II, no less. Anora faintly recalled that the Queen-consort’s name was _Asha_. The Seventh. At this point ‘Asha’ was less of a name and more of an unofficial title of the Antivan Queen. If she did not have it already, she took it as a regnal name. Partly for tradition, and partly because the Antivans liked to remind everyone that all the royal houses in Thedas were historically all related. 

Except of course rather notably, Anora smirked, _hers._ She was the daughter of a cabinet-maker and not ashamed of it. 

“I did not realise you’d be joining us.” Asha VII murmured, her eyes glancing to the guard at the door then quickly back to Anora’s face, as though she was annoyed that the Queen of Ferelden had been allowed entrance at all. She was sitting at a small table set for four, wearing an unimaginative beige dress that swamped her. Of which there were only two places that had been set with matching rows of little forks and knives and spoons in various shapes and sizes. Enough for seven courses each. 

Crumpling the card in her fist at her side, Anora plastered on a fake-smile. It was a cruel trick, Anora had known not to trust Celene. She had been sure the Empress’ invitation was a ploy of some kind, but had allowed herself for a single moment to doubt. And even knowing exactly what Celene was capable of, it seemed that the snub had been played upon Anora, and not the other way around. 

_Though, perhaps not._

The seat across from Queen-Consort Asha was tantalisingly empty, inviting in a way. Set in the middle of the table, was a tower pile of fresh fruit, beside it a pot of black coffee that Anora could smell from the other side of the room. In the empty place, there was an orange cut clean in half on the porcelain plate, a dinner knife was poised delicately against the brim of the plate.

_Which begged the question - where was Celene?_

Anora glanced back to see the ostentatiously dressed blue and gold Orlesian guard quietly closing the door. Cursing silently, she turned her gaze back to the Queen-Consort, “forgive me, Excellency, I must have the wrong room.” It wasn’t overly gracious as far as apologises went. But even as the words left her mouth, Anora spotted the Empress of Orlais’ mask, sitting abandoned on the plush, asymmetric, _empty_ seat across from Asha. 

Asha hummed an incoherent response. She was flushed, there was a collar of dull citrine spun in gold filament around her neck that caught the light. She was breathing rather hard, her breasts straining against her sweeping low-cut bodice with more nonsensical embellishments on the over-sleeves than Ferelden had mabari. More than that, Anora noticed that the Queen-Consort was sitting at an uncomfortable angle in her own lush periwinkle rococo chair, her hands gripped so tightly onto the arms of the seat, that she looked as though she were about to tear the wood clean apart. 

Anora shook her head, suddenly understanding the measure of things. 

The Fereldan Queen strode across the room, took the edge of the little dinner table and dragged the whole thing back, a goblet came crashing over staining oxblood-red pomegranate juice into the lacy tablecloth wooden and the exquisite table legs squealed against the marble floors in protest. “It probably isn’t treason to fuck the King’s wife, since you’re not an Antivan citizen. But it’s a bit gauche, don’t you think?” 

Celene was knelt on the floor, swatched in her heavy royal blues, still gloved and crowned with a tiny sapphire speckled tiara, with a bead of sweat dripping down her neck, leaving a rivulet in her white powder. One of Asha’s legs was draped over the Empress’ shoulder and her stockinged foot bobbed in the air, her lacy smalls still caught on her ankle.

“Figgy doesn’t care,” the Queen-Consort of Antiva babbled, her eyes half glazed as she groaned low as a cat in heat. 

The mysterious ‘Figgy,’ Anora could only assume was her husband. 

“Oh Maker!” Asha stammered out in a rush, which ended with a high pitched squeal as she threw on hand over her head, eyes tight shut with pleasure. Her fingers tightened into claws, before her head fell back and she chirped a little like a linnet. 

Celene rocked back onto her heels. The Empress’ pale-rose lip paint smeared across her mouth and across the Queen of Antiva’s thighs and cunt. She raised a plucked eyebrow at the exchange, rubbing at her lower lip with her thumb and managing to do nothing about the smeared lip paint, leaving a trail streaked across her chin. “Is there any reason you’re ruining a perfectly good brunch with your inane whittling about treason?”

“Don’t stop, please,” Asha begged, as she leant forward in the chair. In her scramble to work out what exactly had come between her and her orgasm, she almost fell off her chair. Her leg slipping from Celene’s shoulder.

The Empress of Orlais ignored Asha as she looked Anora up and down, evaluating and not for a moment giving away an inclination that she was in any way ashamed. She purred at Anora, “so, you got my invitation then?” 

“This is not brunch.” Anora snapped, feeling oddly hot - that had nothing to do with the humidity of the day. She couldn’t tell if she was furious at Celene for the subterfuge, or - well, it was better she not think of the swirling whirlpool of emotions could mean. _Anger,_ Anora decided, narrowing her eyes at Celene. 

“This is better than brunch,” Celene returned grinning, her white teeth out, as she sucked a love bite onto the inside of Asha’s thigh. she murmured against Asha’s flesh, before rocking back and giving Anora a practically filthy look, “the trade talks are dull, the diplomats are boring. Over the years, Asha and I have figured out our own way of settling our international disagreements, haven’t we dear?”

“What Celene means, is that she fucks me until I can’t stand straight, and then I ensure she gets whatever she wants,” Asha cooed, sitting forward and resting her ruffled elbows on her knees and cupping her head in her hands to look at Anora with wide, interested eyes. Like Anora was a new doll for her Excellency to play with. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Anora frowned at them both, then addressed Queen-Consort Asha, “so you’d like me to stand behind you, while Celene attends to your needs? Maybe I’ll flick your nipples or choke you a little, all for a favourable trade agreement?”

Asha looked deliciously delighted by the concept. 

Celene however pursed her apricot lips tightly, snapping, “I didn’t invite her for you, Asha.”

Nastily Asha flicked forward, lightning fast, harrumphed and knocked the Empress’ crown right off her head. 

_How little it took to decrown her._

The little tiara, sapphires set in a headband, that had been balanced on Celene’s head hit the marble, bounced twice and landed at Anora’s feet. 

“It’s my wine you both want.” Asha spat.

Celene caught Asha’s wrist, clearly unimpressed, but pressed a deterrent kiss to the inside of her wrist and told her sharply, “play nicely, after all, you already promised those contracts to me. Unless you’re going back on that?” Celene sucked Asha’s forefinger into her mouth, catching the Queen-Consort’s eye and sucking Asha’s finger only to release her with an audible pop. 

Asha blinked, sighed and settled back a little in the lavender chair looking smug and content with her theatrics. “Are our informal deals binding, Celene?” Then with a two-fingered beckoning to Anora, she murmured toothsomely, “if you’d like to make a separate proposal, I’m prepared to listen.”

Anora bent and she picked the little tiara up, it barely weighed anything. It seemed that she had not been invited to this soirare to be insulted. It was almost sweet that Celene had thought of her. 

_Almost._

And now Anora had more than simply the crown of Orlais in her hands, this was going to be too easy. Blinking in a mockery of innocence she enquired politely to Asha, “if you go back on your deals with Celene, your Excellency, how am I supposed to trust any deals you make with me?” She raised an eyebrow and waited a single beat as she pretended to ponder the solution, before she allowed herself to smirk and added. “How about a wager instead?”

That caught Celene’s attention, who twisted around fully facing Anora. The Empress blinked, seemingly undecided if she should be furious at the stolen crown or intrigued by the challenge. 

“Go on,” Asha prompted, her tongue poking out to lick her lower lip. 

“Simple, it’s about how much the Empress wants it,” Anora smiled to herself at her wording, feeling delightfully clever, “if Celene makes you, Asha, come first, Orlais wins the trade contracts. I shalln’t even dispute it. Fair’s fair.” 

“But?” Celene demanded, with the fury of a lioness that hadn’t worked out she looked like a housecat. 

Anora crouched beside the kneeling Empress, delicately replacing the tiara among her ashy blonde hair. Then studying Celene’s peach lipstick smeared face and plucking out a kerchief from her bodice she handed that over, “didn’t you lot invent the Game, surely you can tell me?” 

Taking the thrust kerchief, the Empress of Orlais pressed it against her mouth, but didn’t make any real attempt to clean up her make-up. And didn’t give it back either. Rather her sharp feline-eyes were fixed on Anora, “if you can make me come first, you want twenty percent of the contracts?” 

“Seventy.” Anora returned, raising a challenging eyebrow. 

Celene considered for a heartbeat, before firing back, “fourty.” 

“Fifty-five.” Anora shrugged.

“Forty, final offer.” Celene smirked. 

“Forty-eight, or no deal.” Anora returned, looking at her nail beds as though she was bored with this whole conversation, bored with Celene - because she knew nothing would frustrate Celene more, nothing would make her so eager to impress. Anora then sighed, rolling her shoulders a touch dramatically as she did so and she glanced to the door, to give her the impression that she was actually thinking about leaving. 

Celene narrowed her eyes at her, “fine.” 

_Too quick Celene,_ Anora thought, dangerously close to triumph. She could not afford to become complacent, not when such opportunities were rarely handed to her so delectably. 

“But the percentage is immaterial, exactly what makes you think that you can win?” The Empress of Orlais snapped, with all of the grandeur one woman could muster kneeling on the floor with another woman’s slick over her face.

“What makes me think I can win?” Anora repeated back slowly, picking the words apart. She knelt carefully behind Celene, raised her hand into the air to catch the Empress’ attention, then slipped underneath Celene’s skirts and ran her hand up Celene’s thigh. Anora’s fingers found the Empress without smalls and very wet underneath her skirts, she brushed a stray strand of hair from Celene’s face. “You invited _me_ here, you want _my_ fingers on you, in you. And _I’ll_ stop, when Asha comes.” Anora warned. 

“Sounds like fun.” Celene swallowed hard and leant back into Anora, then she drawled as though she was in control of the situation, “are you game, Asha?”

“A-huh.” The Antivan Queen-Consort murmured as she writhed wretchedly, on the plush asymmetric rococo chair. She drew the hem of her own skirt up, the milk-forth taffeta and silk monstrosity billowed as she plucked it back over her hips. “Can we start?” 

“Go on then,” Anora encouraged the Empress’ head back between the Queen-consort’s legs, before Celene could make a snappy remark. “Once I stop, I won’t start again. Your choice, how much is some wine worth to you?” 

Celene’s breath caught, as she was shoved forward onto her hands and knees, but she dutifully licked at Asha. 

As the Queen of Ferelden’s fingers moved between the Empress’ legs in delicately slow moving sure, small circles with her other hand she pressed against Celene’s back, before she drew her fingers around Celene’s slim neck, feeling her pulse flutter under her fingertips. She didn’t squeeze, just liked the feel of Celene’s bobbing throat as she gave her attention to the Queen-consort of Antiva. “You feel delightful.” She murmured against Celene’s ear. 

“Of course I do.” Celene murmured, against Asha. 

Anora couldn’t help herself, as she snarked, “it’s just nice to see Orlais so pliant.” Then as an almost-apology she slipped a second finger inside Celene, curling it against the softness of the Empress’ flesh.

Celene growled as she ground back against Anora, anchoring her hips into the Fereldan Queen and zealously grinding on Anora’s fingers. The whole performance to prove that nothing had been given that Celene had not righteously earned. Although her movements began as arrhythmic and conscious as she balanced her enthusiastic reactions to Anora with her fevert efforts against Asha. Celene slipped into the animalistic movements as she gave and took in equally as eagerly.

Anora felt a rumbling low in the hollow beneath her ribs. And Anora enjoyed how it was all too easy to manipulate these hens - Asha was easy because she thought she deserved the attention and Celene, well Celene thought she didn’t. Sins, real or imagined that she was trying to exorcise on the Queen of Ferelden’s fingers. But Anora couldn’t deny how much she liked the feel of Celene’s royal blue silks against her skin, cascading like a soft waterfall, or the feel of her fingers inside the Empress, warm, slick. Didn’t mind taking advantage of the Orlesian Empress’ insane, desperate need to please. 

Though those thoughts died a quick death as Asha started to moan, and sing. High and breathy notes that Anora might have taken for discomfort if only for the fact that Asha’s heel wasn’t digging into Anora’s back and her calf wasn’t shaking with the anticipated release. 

Biting back a snarl of annoyance that Antiva was getting the better of her, Anora slipped her hand from Celene’s neck and tightened her fist right in the base of Empress’ straw-coloured hair, pulling her head up and stalling Asha in her quest for completion. 

That shut Asha up. 

Only for a moment though, she babbled high then low something incoherent, then protested, “you’re kidding me?” Queen-Consort Asha slid forward on the periwinkle rococo chair, almost kicking Anora in the face - and would have if Anora hadn’t ducked away from the flick of Asha’s heel. 

Celene had started on hands and knees, but was wrenched up, back arching like a cat stretching. She shivered against Anora, silently and unsecretly amused by the turn of events and Anora’s blatant cheating. The Orlesian Empress reached forwards to hook her hand across Asha’s exposed thigh, fingernails drawing delicate lines in the Queen-Consort of Antiva’s flesh. But didn’t bring her mouth back between Asha’s legs, despite her breathed indication of her desire. Rather Celene twisted her fingers in the air and beckoned Asha towards her to join them on the floor.

Drawn in by Celene’s inviting fingers, Asha followed, slumping elegantly into a puddle of silks and chiffon upon the floor. Queen-Consort Asha crawled the distance between them, her hands flung over Celene’s shoulders, pushing into Anora’s grip on them until the three were sitting upright in a little triangle on the cool marble floor. Then taking Celene’s hand, she brought it under her skirts to put her back to work. “Fuck me,” she whispered, before she pulled Celene’s face to hers, and demanded, “kiss me.”

The Empress of Orlais did as bid. On both counts. In spite of the restrictions that had been placed upon her by Anora’s claws still tight in Celene’s hair. She bit Asha’s bottom lip, gently and then sucked on it. 

Then Asha pulled sharply away from Celene and turned to Anora, “and you, kiss me.” It wasn’t a question, more of a command.

A command that Anora might well have ignored, but for the strangest desire to discover what Antiva tasted like, and for the knowledge that she might find that upon Queen-Consort Asha’s lips, she leant forward past Celene’s shoulder to taste Asha. 

Asha was not a particularly good kisser, inexperienced. She was all tongue and grand gestures, forceful and bold as the Antivan red wine they were squabbling over. But she tasted all heady and ripe as fragrant blood orange. 

And that might have been the end of it, if Celene did not react so delightfully to the kiss. Despite having no part of it, Anora felt Celene’s reaction, her thighs clenched tight around Anora’s fingers, her swollen flesh pulsing with excitement. 

_And now that was fascinating._

Celene seemed startled, her expression dazed, a single soft sigh escaping her parted peach lips. 

How curious it was to Anora, that it was that singular action that brought forward the greatest response from Celene. Anora wanted to strip off the pretence that the Empress of Orlais was hiding behind, but she doubted she would achieve it any time soon, as tantalising as it was to work out the full extent of what made Celene tick, Anora had a battle to win. So clutching Celene’s waist with her free hand to steady them both Anora moved in for another grim kiss with Asha. 

Asha was close enough that Celene’s breath was on her cheek. And with an inspired look she moved in and trapped Celene between them, clutching a hand onto Celene’s shoulder and slipping her other beneath the Empress’ heavy, royal blue, silk skirts. Her hand cool against Anora’s fingers, she took over rubbing quick, tight little circles against Celene’s clit.

If the wager hadn’t been offered, Anora would have demanded the Queen-Consort of Antiva slow down her efforts. The Queen of Ferelden wanted to draw every sigh and breath from Celene, memorise her husky gasping, imprint the delicious way that her body was clenching against Anora’s fingers upon her soul. But she didn’t, she kept silent, sped her thrusts into Celene to match Antiva’s relentless pace.

Asha returned to Celene, to her fierce and warlike kisses. If Celene wished to beg, her words were swallowed by Asha as she ravaged her mouth with teeth and tongue. 

Leaving Anora free to press little licks and sucks down the bare expanse of Celene’s neck. As Anora sunk her teeth gently into Celene’s flesh, by her pulse, she felt that it run right through the centre of Orlais. 

Celene teetered on the edge, like a keeling ship dangerously close to over. She stilled, even holding her breath tightly within her lungs. The Empress swayed a little forward, then back, like a tree caught in a breeze, caught between Antiva and Ferelden. “No fair, you’ve teamed up ‘gainst me.” Celene mumbled, her voice breathless and husky. Then gasping in a hot gulp of air, Celene let out a tiny cry, and a heartbeat later, it was all over. 

“I won,” Anora hissed, victorious by the Empress of Orlais’ ear. And watched as the shiver rose against Celene’s exposed flesh.

Even before it was over, as Celene still bobbed in unmeasured, jerky movements riding out the last of her climax, Asha had pulled away. Settling back on the floor. She scowled, and the Queen-Consort of Antiva’s arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked very much like a very angry meringue, puffed up and brittle. It only completed the picture when petulantly Asha whined, “well, is it my go yet?”

The Fereldan Queen’s gaze flicked to Asha disinterestedly, the game was over and won. There was no reason to stick around. So Anora withdrew her fingers from Celene, and she wondered briefly if she should put them to Celene’s lips to lick clean, but decided against the fleeting fancy. Afterall, Anora had already won, there was no reason to humiliate Celene further even if she suspected that the Empress might like it. 

Though that thought was not shared with Celene, who had recovered quickly and was already smirking at Asha. The Empress reached out to cup Asha’s cheek and she purred, “don’t worry, we’ll fuck that little scowl off your face.” Then the Empress glanced over her shoulder back to Anora, “won’t we Anora?”

“Oh no, your Radiance,” Anora replied, reverting to Celene’s honourific, the excessive politeness stung like she’d thrown out a vicious insult. And enjoyed the way that Celene’s face fell, looking like a kicked mabari pup just for a moment, before Celene remembered to school her features with careful indifference. To add to the blow she leant in and told the Empress of Orlais, “I got what I came for. Forty-eight percent.”

“Bitch.” Celene accused, fondly. Keeping a hold of the last syllable between her teeth and drawing the word out. 

Anora smiled sweetly at Celene, and stood, smoothing her hands down over her rumpled skirts. Then turned to Asha, spine held straight as she offered a farewell courtesy. “Enjoy the rest of your brunch, your Excellency.” 

As she left the room, she put a hand to her hair to check that her style had not come undone during the morning’s negotiation. 

The Orlesian guard was still standing stiffly by the doorway, ears red as cooked beetroot and he wouldn’t meet Anora’s eye as she walked past. 

So indulging the little spark of mischief that she had been cultivating all morning, she addressed him. “Tell the kitchens to send me a bottle of Antivan red to me rooms would you, I have a thirst.” 

He jumped, the poor thing. His mouth worked as he struggled to articulate a response to the Queen of Ferelden. Mostly likely to tell her that she couldn’t just send him running off like a common dogsbody. But, he didn’t quite manage to formulate a protest. 

“Well?” She snapped, raising an eyebrow for good measure. 

“Yes, your Majesty.” He spluttered.

And Anora heard him scampering away as she turned on her heel and walked away. Feeling utterly triumphant, the Queen of Ferelden decided that she would have to attend future trade talks, they were remarkably good fun.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celene I - Empress - your Radiance   
> Anora - Queen - your Majesty  
> Asha VII - Queen-Consort - your Excellency


End file.
